Take a Ride On the Merry-Go-Round
by the-Mad-Majesty-of-Muchness
Summary: Miette has always been an oddball. "Eccentric" is the word people use. So when she gets KO'd and dreams her way into the nineteenth century, it's a bit of a relief to be free of all the judgment. Then she meets the man calling himself simply Erik and begins to realize there's more going on than meets the eye. But why won't she wake up already? Mostly ALW with some Kay and Leroux.
1. Prologue

**AN: I swore to myself I wasn't going to start another story until I finished either my Heathers story or my Repo! story.**

**Then my mother took me to see Phantom earlier this week.**

**It was the first time I'd ever seen it live, and I've been listening obsessively to the Royal Albert Hall 25th anniversary soundtrack ever since, and reading phanfiction, and then I finally got around to reading Susan Kay's Phantom, and one thing led to another, and now here I am. The updates for this will get much more regular once I have my laptop back (it's broken, I'm typing this on my mother's desktop computer while I'm home alone). I also have a POTO/Les Mis X-over that I'm going to eventually post starring Enjy, Erik, 'Ponine, and Meg that is an (eventual) Enjonine and does not yet have a title.**

**btw, just so you know, I'm picturing Ramin Karmiloo as Erik for this. I've developed a bit of an obsession with him and his magical voice thanks to the RAH 25th soundtrack, so yeah.**

**DISCLAIMER: If I was Leroux, I'd be dead and French and a dude, and if I was ALW, I'd have been at Royal Albert Hall for the 25th anniversary performance (which I wasn't, nor am I British, nor have I ever been married to Sarah Brightman), and as for the Kay elements in here, I have no idea her current state of being and/or whereabouts. I also don't own the basic premise of this, that belongs to Jennifer Donnelly. My only claim to ownership here is over Miette.  
**

* * *

PROLOGUE  
_Modern Day  
Paris, France  
_

The day Miette Comtois's life changed forever was just a normal day like any other.

The nineteen-year-old was, as she often had starting at age twelve, exploring restricted areas of the catacombs that lay beneath her native Paris. She was really quite adept at doing so undetected, not that it was something she went around bragging about. (After all, she didn't want to get arrested for it or anything.) At that particular moment in time, she was squeezed into a narrow passageway and worming her way through on her stomach, dragging herself along with her elbows, flashlight strapped to her forearm so that its beam of light penetrated the darkness in front of her like a beacon to guide her home, which was ironic, she thought wryly, since Miette had always felt quite at home there among the dead in the labyrinthine mass grave underneath the streets of Paris, more so than anywhere else, in fact, as odd as it may have sounded.

She had always found that she didn't particularly care much for the living, despite being a member of it herself. They were too loud and selfish and overall quite obnoxious for her taste; now, the dead, on the other hand, were another matter entirely, and perhaps it was for that reason that she preferred to spend time among them rather than aboveground in the streets of Paris.

Finally, she came to the end of the tunnel she was in and squeezed out, staying on her hands and knees a moment to catch her breath before getting to her feet.

Miette was thought of as being quite...well..."eccentric" was the word used by most. She was rarely ever home and didn't hang around at the same places as other people her age that were in her social group (not that anyone knew she was going to the catacombs instead), and she wasn't into the same things as the other girls in her age or social groups. She'd never had a boyfriend (just as well, she supposed; most guys she knew were either assholes, "nice guys," or complete idiots), and when she wasn't in the catacombs, she was always wearing this leather moto jacket, no matter how hot it was. She wore multiple rings of different types on each hand, not to mention all her bracelets, and always had on this one particular necklace that, whenever someone asked her about it, she'd drop down her shirt and get all defensive suddenly. Overall, she could be summed up as the eccentric one who lived with her uncle and spent more time underground with artfully stacked bones than she did anywhere else. Even her teachers had always found her a bit...off.

Though Miette had no interest in dating, and though he knew this quite well, Uncle Théo thought it really was a shame that none of the boys had ever shown an interest in her. She really was quite pretty. With auburn hair, green eyes, and pearly skin, Miette looked very much like her mother, Théo's younger sister who, along with her husband, had been killed in a car wreck when Miette was ten. Unfortunately, Miette's aunt had also been in the car, and though she survived, she was in her coma so long that Théo had eventually lost hope and taken her off life support so she wouldn't suffer. It had just been him, Miette, and Bijou, the cat, ever since.

Lost as she was in her thoughts, Miette didn't realize that there were approaching footsteps until suddenly, the "catacomb cops," as she called them, were right there in front of her, shining their flashlights in her face, forcing her to shield her eyes with her arm as she squinted against the sudden brightness. It took all of sixty seconds before her instincts kicked in and she turned and fled in the opposite direction, turning off her own flashlight so the beam wouldn't draw attention to her in the darkness of the tunnels. In the pitch black, she tripped over something and hit her head.

The last thing she saw was the approaching beams of the cops' flashlights.

* * *

**So now you've met Miette! Also, in case you couldn't tell, I got the title for this from the lyrics of "Masquerade."  
**

**Um...What else? Erik will show up next chapter, I promise you that. And...Oh! If you want to hear about my Phantom experience the other day, feel free to ask, I'll be happy to share with you! Otherwise, that's about it, so...yeah. I hope you enjoyed the prologue, and be sure to review so Erik doesn't Punjab me! :)**


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: Okay, so I checked and double-checked on the year that POTO takes place before deciding how long after that this story happens, and I'm going to do my best with all the historical stuff, but forgive me if I get some stuff wrong and stuff.  
**

**ALSO, I've decided to sort of alter the Kay timeline a bit, so let's say that instead of fifty-something, Erik is 32 in this, kk? I dunno, I just don't like the idea of him being old enough to be Christine's father by the time the whole thing happened, it sort of takes away from the ALW story for me a bit. I'm more comfortable with him being something more like 10 years her senior than thirty-something. (I guess I'm more comfortable with that because I ship Grilo from Repo! the Genetic Opera, and the age gap between them is generally viewed as being somewhere around that mark, so yeah.)**

**Ok, last thing, I promise! This is NOT going to be a romance between anyone. I'm not going to pairing Miette up with Erik, nor am I a shipper of Meg/Erik (though I do love Meg, she's always been one of my favorites), so this is just going to be that like Miette slowly manages to earn his trust and sort of become his friend, that sort of thing, there won't be any romance, just to let you know. Sorry if that disappoints anyone. It's just that...like...while I DO ship Raoul/Christine, I also cannot fathom ever seeing Erik with anyone else. While I can _read_ fics like that, I find myself unable to _write_ them, so that's why. :)**

**DISCLAIMER: I own Miette Comtois, but the rest belongs to Leroux and/or ALW.  
**

* * *

_1883  
Paris, France  
_

It had been two years, and Erik was still wandering the halls and secret passages of the Opera Populaire, abandoned after it had partially burned down on that fateful night. He was still wrapped up in his music, as he had been all his life, but he no longer composed, having lost his muse and inspiration. He still sketched, though. Lord, did he sketch. There was one area of his lair completely littered with drawings of Christine; on the floor, the walls, everywhere. When he wasn't absorbed in his music, he was usually sketching her obsessively. Like everything else about her, he remembered her appearance perfectly. Much as he remembered the events of his own life, as well.

He would often go up to Box Five, even now, though it was really more out of habit than anything else. He would stand there, sometimes for hours at a time, and gaze down at the wreckage of the chandelier on top of the audience seats while he reflected on everything. Sometimes his thoughts would take him beyond the Opera House; back to Persia, back to when he met Élisabeth Giry (though her name hadn't been Giry then, it had been Boisseau) for the first time, back to Luciana and Giovanni, back to the Gypsies, sometimes even back to his mother and that blasted house he hated so much.

He never ventured out anymore. Not even Nadir knew he was still there. Only Élisabeth and her daughter knew he was even still alive. They were the ones that provided him with everything he needed to survive, which, for the most part, only consisted of food these days. He would be dead by then if not for Élisabeth and Meg, not that it would make much difference to him. He had lost the will to live long ago and didn't understand how that alone hadn't killed him yet.

Then, suddenly, things changed without warning.

* * *

Upon opening her eyes, Miette knew by some instinct that something was not right. First off, why had the catacomb cops not arrested her? She had expected to wake up in the police station with Uncle Théo there all pissed off for getting herself into this situation and making him get a call from the cops. How strange, she thought as she got up and brushed herself off. Her head was throbbing where she'd hit it, and she had to grope in the dark for her flashlight, finally finding it near where her knee had been. Thankfully, it worked when she turned it on, so after fixing her ponytail, she set off through the tunnels to leave.

When she reached the exit, she halted in her tracks.

Everything was different. The Paris before her was like something straight out of the history books at school, not at all like the Paris where she had lived out all nineteen years of her life. "I have to be dreaming," she whispered to herself. Yes, that was it. Of course. She was still knocked out cold, probably being taken to the police station right that very moment, and this was all just a figment of her subconscious imagination. That was it. That _had _to be it. It was the only logical explanation for what she was seeing right now. Either that, or she had walked out onto a movie set without meaning to.

But that didn't account for the incredible _detail._

She shook her head. "Focus, Miette," she said. "Worry about that later. Right now, just..." She trailed off, looking around, trying to figure out what she should do or where she should go for the time being. Then she realized that she hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was well past lunchtime, so she decided to go find something to eat. Wandering through the streets, she got quite a few stares and made a mental note to see about new clothes so she could blend in, but for now, she focused on the food. And, perhaps even more importantly, keeping an eye out for something to tell her the date. Finally, her nose led her to a bakery.

"How much for a loaf of bread?" she asked.  
"Ten francs," the man behind the counter replied.

Miette froze while digging through her bag. Francs? No, that couldn't be right. Francs hadn't been used since 1999 when France had converted to the euro. After doing some quick math in her head and determining that ten francs meant 1.52 euros, she pulled out the appropriate amount and held it out to the man. He shook his head, though. "Your foreign money's no good here," he said. "Now, step aside, I have customers waiting." Not having it in her to argue, Miette stepped away from the counter and hung her head in defeat as she turned to leave. "Ah!" she heard as she opened the door. "Madame Giry! The usual, then?" The reply was cut off as Miette let the door close behind her, then, not knowing what else to do, began slowly making her way down the street with her bag hugged against her chest.

"Wait! Mademoiselle, wait!" a voice called.  
Miette gasped in surprise as someone caught her by the arm and turned her around, only to be met by the sight of a blonde girl about her own age holding something out to her that was wrapped in paper, a smile on her face. Behind her was a woman in a black dress with a cane and a long braid. "Take it," the blonde girl said, nodding to the thing in her hands. "We saw how you got turned away from the bakery, so we got you some bread."

A grateful smile crept onto Miette's face as she reached out and took it. "Thank you," she said, "thank you so much."  
"Oh, it was no trouble," the blonde replied. "I'm just glad we were able to help."  
"Meg," the woman said. "Come along now. We must be going."  
"Coming, Maman," the blonde said over her shoulder.

Before Miette had the chance to say anything more, the girl and her mother had disappeared once more into the crowd. Shrugging, Miette turned and continued on her way, unwrapping the bread partway and breaking some of it off to eat as she walked, trying to decide what to do next. That was when she noticed a newspaper lying in the gutter. She stopped, picked it up, and shook some of the water off, then scanned for the date. Finally, she found it up in the corner of the front page.

_August 19th, 1883_

She stood there, a piece of bread halfway to her open mouth, just staring in disbelief at the year on the page in front of her. She was only snapped out of it by the feeling of raindrops hitting her head. She looked around, then shoved the remainder of the bread into her bag before taking off to search for shelter, using the already-drenched newspaper as a flimsy excuse of a shield against the rain that fell.

She thought nothing of it to run into a building that was quite clearly abandoned, not caring that it showed evidence of being partly burned.

The more she explored the place, the more it became evident that it had once been some kind of theater. Especially when she, by chance, found herself on the stage staring out at the chandelier sitting atop the audience seats, no more than wreckage now, though it once must have been glorious, just like the rest of the place showed evidence of having been. On a sudden whim, Miette dropped her bag on the floor and began dancing around, singing her favorite Disney songs, ending her little performance with one of her all-time favorites.

_"Laisser aller! Laisser aller! Et je prends la parole comme l'aube! Laisser aller! Laisser aller! Cette fille parfaite est parti! Je me tiens debout, et ici je resterai! Laissez la rage de tempête sur...! Le froid ne m'a jamais dérangé de toute façon."_

Bringing it to an end, she took a bow, smiling and blowing kisses to an invisible audience. She stumbled on a loose floorboard suddenly and tumbled to the side, knocking her bag over and sending the contents spilling all over the stage. _"Merde!" _she cried, getting down on her hands and knees to pick everything up and stuff it back in the bag. She turned away from her iPod for a moment to put something else into the bag, and when she turned back around to grab it, it was curiously absent. "The hell?" she muttered, and promptly began searching for it elsewhere. Then she realized that she had the oddest sense of being watched.

She looked up and gasped.

Standing above her examining the iPod was a man with dark hair swathed in a black cloak with one side of his face covered by a white half-mask. Miette slowly got to her feet and swallowed before finding her voice again. "Um...e-excuse me, sir, can I have that back please?" she asked, holding her hand out for the iPod. He raised his head to look at her, revealing that he had dark eyes to match his dark hair. "My apologies, mademoiselle," he said, and gave the music player back to her. She noticed as he did so that he wore black leather gloves.

"Have I startled you?" the man asked. There was something about his voice that she couldn't put words to. Some beauty that was just..._there, _she supposed. Miette nodded wordlessly in response to the question. "Forgive me," the man replied, "I intend you no harm. I was simply drawn here by your singing. No one has been in here for two years. May I ask what brings you into the opera house?"

"Th-The storm. It was a place to stay dry," Miette said. The masked man nodded as if deeming her response a suitable one. "What about you?" she asked.  
"I am here for...many reasons," he said, "some which involve taking shelter like you are, though perhaps from different things that I believe are best unnamed."  
Miette nodded slowly, wondering if she was perhaps talking to an escaped psycho or something and severely hoping she wasn't. After a moment, she managed a smile as she thrust her hand out at him.

"Miette Comtois," she said. Instead of shaking the offered hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it lightly, making her blush.  
"Pleased you meet you, Mlle. Comtois," he said, "I am Erik."  
"And...is there a last name to go with that?"  
"Yes, but I prefer not to share it."  
"Alright. Suit yourself."

"That song you were singing. I don't believe I know it. Is it from an opera?" Erik asked.  
Miette blinked, unsure how to respond to that. How could he not know _Laisser Aller, _she wondered. If this was just a figment of her imagination, shouldn't he be as familiar with it as she was? Even if it was the movie set explanation, he should still be familiar with it. And why did he think it was from an opera? "No," she said, "it's from a movie." From behind the mask, he gave her a quizzical look. "N-Nevermind," she said, waving it off.

_"I wonder why he wears that mask,"_she thought. _"He looks like he'd be pretty damn good-looking if he'd take it off."_

"And," Erik said, pointing to the iPod in her hand, "what is that?"  
"What, this? It's an iPod. You download music onto it and can listen to it on the go."  
His dark eyes seemed to light up somewhat at this. "And," he said, "how does one do this?"

"Download or listen?"  
"Both, I suppose."  
"I can't really explain downloading very well, but I can show you how to listen if you want."

When he gave a single nod of affirmation, she punched in her password and showed him how to go to the music menu and choose a song, artist, album, or playlist. "Les Misérables?" he asked, pointing to the movie soundtrack. "Monsieur Hugo's novel? I don't understand."

By that point, she had determined that she must be on some kind of movie set or something, after all, and for him not to know about the Les Mis musical and movie...Miette could understand wanting to stay in character for this...whatever by keeping the period feel, but would it seriously kill this guy to come back into the 21st century for all of, like, two damn minutes?

She said as much, and all it got her was a look that seemed best described as confused anger. "You, Mademoiselle," Erik said, "seem to be ill in the head."  
"No, I'm not!" Miette yelled. "You're the one that won't even break character for ten seconds to help me understand what the hell I've walked into!"  
"No one is acting here, Mlle. Comtois," he replied coolly.

* * *

This girl, this...Miette...was mad, surely. The 21st century indeed! She must have escaped from some sort of mental institution. It certainly might explain her odd clothing. Finally getting fed up with her ranting, he turned on his heel with a whirl of his cape and began heading off in the direction he had come. "Get back here!" Miette screamed. "I demand that you get back here and give me a proper explanation _this instant, _you hear me?! _Come back!" _He could hear her running after him, and at the last second, he turned, one hand going to the back of her neck and the other to cover her mouth and nose. With the one hand, he squeezed hard enough on her neck to make her stiffen, eyes seeming to bulge slightly as she bristled. He could easily choke her if he wanted to, but he saw no reason why he should. For the moment, at least. Whether or not that changed would be up to her.

"Mademoiselle," he said in a low voice, "I strongly advise against pursuing me. If you are not careful, you shall soon find that you have crossed the point of no return and cannot go back. Quit while you're ahead. Trust me."

He loosened his grip on her neck somewhat and she immediately pulled his hand away from her mouth. He tightened his grip again and was about to put his hand back over her mouth when she said something that made him stop with his hand mid-air.

"The Third Republic will fall, monsieur," she blurted out. "In 1940, Germany will take over the country and be replaced by the Vichy France government. Vichy will be replaced by the Fourth Republic. The Third Republic, though...Seventy years, Monsieur, the longest lasting French government system since the _Ancien Régime_ almost a hundred years ago. Impressive, don't you think? And M. Hugo's work is world-famous. Made into an opera."

He stared at her wordlessly.  
"I know things, monsieur," she whispered. "This is the Paris Opera House, right?"  
"The Opera Populaire."  
"One day it'll be called the Palais Garnier. They'll fix it. It'll be beautiful again."

"NO! You lie! Nobody dares come near here after what happened two years ago!"  
"Just call me the Prophetess, monsieur!" Miette cried, and Erik let go of her neck, instead holding her wrist in a vise grip as he dragged her off. "Where are you taking me?!" she demanded.

_"DOWN!"_

* * *

**OOOOOh, Miette's in trouble now! I've already gotten two reviews for this talking about how the catacomb thing made them claustrophobic, lol, sorry, guys, didn't mean to do that.  
**

**Also, Madame Giry and Meg! I'm seeing Miranda Richardson and Jennifer Ellison for them (the actresses from the movie).**

**And I checked, and Les Mis was first published in 1862, so don't worry, I didn't screw anything up with that, lol.**

**Okay, the song that Miette was singing is Let it Go from Frozen. I typed the last verse of it into Google Translate, lol. And yeah, I was listening to The Point of No Return when I wrote that one line of Erik's, lmao.**

**Okay, I'm tired, please review so I don't get Punjab'd, goodnight. :)_  
_**


	3. Chapter 2

**AN: Oh dear, my nightgown seems to be fraying at the edge of the ribbon._  
_**

**OKAY, so last chapter, Erik took Miette, in his words, _"DOWN!" _probably most likely meaning "down once more to the dungeon of my black despair! Down we plunge to the prison of my miiiiind! Down that path into darkness deep as HEEEEEEEEEEEEEELL!"**

**...Uh...I mean...brb I'm gonna go get my new moto jacket.**

**God, this thing absolutely SCREAMS Dallas Winston from The Outsiders, and that makes me so happy!**

**Anyway, yeah, I'm a greaser at heart, you get the picture...ANYWAY...Um...  
Okay, I'd like to say something about Miette's clothing real quick. The book that gave me the idea for this premise? In that book (Revolution, by Jennifer Donnelly, in case you've forgotten, and it is a book that I VERY highly recommend, especially for those into historical fiction and/or, more specifically, French Revolution centered historical fiction), when Andi goes back in time, she never bothers getting clothes to blend in, she just goes the entire two or three days of being stuck in the past wearing her modern day clothes (being who she is personality-wise and based what we're told of her appearance, I imagine Andi as wearing things like worn-out combat boots, ripped and faded jeans, t-shirts with band logos on them, and a moto jacket) and sticking out like a sore thumb. At least Miette's got enough common sense to plan on getting some period-appropriate clothes, even if she does end up putting it off for a while!  
**

_**Okay, an important note about Erik's last name:**_

**I know that pretty much everyone (by which I mean every phan in existence) uses Destler, and out of curiosity, I looked up where that had come from, and frankly, I found the explanation I found to be kind of a stupid reason for so many people to use that name, and it was not a good enough reason to convince me to jump on that bandwagon. So what I did was I went and I found some French last names that I liked, and then I made my own selection from those, and that's what I've decided to use. So sorry if that upsets anyone or puts any of you off the story, but that's just how it is. (Besides, the last name I picked actually ended up being rather appropriate because it means "dark," or "black," which fits, given that I'm using Ramin Karmiloo for this as far as Erik's looks go and he has dark hair and eyes. (This name's literal translation from French to English is "the black," I kid you not.) So there you go.)**

**Alright, I'm done now, just had to get that out of the way so you aren't left going "wtf?" when you get to that one part in the chapter where it mentions his last name for the first time. :)**

**DISCLAIMER: God, where are the funny disclaimers, why can't I come up with one all of a sudden? I don't own anything except Miette and this awesome jacket I'm wearing, very similar to Miette's own moto jacket, which she unfortunately is not wearing...See, that sucked, that wasn't funny at all. That was pathetic is what that was.**

* * *

The second time Miette went unconscious was because of Erik.  
Fed up with her screams and protests and demands, he had finally just turned and given her a firm knock on the head. He hadn't intended to knock her out, but he must have whacked her harder than he'd meant to, because next thing he knew, he was having to catch her as she collapsed. Well, at least it had effectively silenced her. So he ended up carrying her down through the passages leading to his underground home.

As he laid her down in the boat and then got into it himself, unmooring it and taking up the oar to begin the trip across the lake, he couldn't help but once again take note of her odd clothing. She was dressed in pants made of some sort of blue fabric he'd never seen before, an odd style of blouse with what better qualified as straps than sleeves, and a style of boot he'd never seen before with dirt caked on the bottoms. And all her jewelry! He recognized them as being rings and bracelets and, in one case, a necklace, but never before had he seen ones like most of them! The one that looked the least strange (to his eyes, anyway) was the ring she wore on her right ring finger; a band of pale, almost silvery gold with a rose engraved on it. Of course, her earrings were no stranger to him than everything else, and for some reason, she had on multiple pairs of them rather than just one.

She muttered something in her sleep, and Erik couldn't help but roll his eyes towards the ceiling. _"Great," _he thought, _"she's a sleep-talker. God knows wha__t I'll have to listen to during this trip. This is just my luck." _As it turned out, though, Miette actually wasn't as much of a sleep-talker as he expected her to be, though she did, at one point, shoot bolt upright into a sitting position and, without ever opening her eyes, pointed at the empty air in front of her and yelled, "Put that pelican back right now or I'll turn you into a carrot!" and then promptly laid right back down again.

Once they finally reached their destination, Erik laid her down in the only place he could think to, which was the swan bed. Then he went to find where he'd left his drawing materials, intending to finish a sketch of Christine that he'd started earlier.

* * *

Miette woke to the sound of a piano—no, not a piano, she realized. An organ. And it was playing a song that she knew, but couldn't place. Oh, God, her head was throbbing again, and even in the same spot. What could have possibly made that Erik guy think it was a good idea to hit her like that?

_"Okay, Miette, think. You aren't dreaming, and that guy _clearly _wasn't acting, so it must not be a movie set, either. So what other explanation is there for all this that makes sense? Unless...Oh no...Oh, God, no, that's not possible, it can't be!...Wait...where the hell am I and how did I get here? Ugh, great, now I've been kidnapped by some nutjob in a mask, that's just what I need right now."_

She slowly got up, ignoring the pain in her skull, and followed her ears in the direction of the music, only to find Erik sitting at an organ with his back to her and his cape over the back of a nearby chair as he played, hardly even glancing at the sheet music in front of him as he did so, his fingers moving gracefully and effortlessly over the keys. He didn't seem to be aware of her presence, or even the fact that she was awake, he was so absorbed in his music. Then, partway through the song, she suddenly began to remember the lyrics. The title and where she'd heard it continued to evade her, but she knew the words and began to sing as if she were in her choir class at school.

_"Cette ivresse de jeunesse ne dure, hêlas, qu'un jour! Puis vient l'heure où l'on pleure. Loin de l'hiver morose laisse moi, laisse moi sommeille et respirer la rose, avant de l'effeuiller. Ah!-Ah!-Ah!"_

She knew there was more after that, but Erik stopped playing, turning to face her as the last note from the organ faded away. He stared at her without saying anything until she began to blush. "Am I that bad?" she asked sheepishly. Maybe she imagined it, but she could have sworn that for just a second, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards ever-so-slightly.

"On the contrary," he said, "you have a lovely voice. I was merely a bit surprised that you know that aria. No offense, mademoiselle, but you don't particularly strike me as the operatic type, you see."

"I've taken choir since I was twelve, we sing a lot of different things for our stuff. I don't know what that song's from, though."  
"It's from Gounod's _Roméo et Juliette_. Juliette sings it in the first act. As I said before, it's an aria. How do you know it if you're not familiar with the opera?"  
Miette shrugged. "That's a good question, I don't remember. If I figure it out, though, you'll be the first to know. So...what exactly is this place? How'd we get here?"

"This is where I live," Erik replied. Miette's eyes widened a bit.  
"You _live _here?" she said. "But...we're underground! How do you—"  
"I have help from the outside world. She brings me what I need. Mostly food. Paper and charcoal to sketch with."

"How long have you been living here?"  
"I first came as a young teenager. I left for some time, then came back several years ago and have been here ever since."

"Wait...how old are you?"  
"That's a bit personal, don't you think?"  
"Not really. Where I'm from, people share their ages all the time."  
"And where exactly _are _you from, Mlle. Comtois?"  
"The Paris of the future, of course! Where else do you think I got the iPod? How else would I know all that stuff about what's going to happen?"

Deep down in her gut, Miette had the feeling that somehow, she truly had gone back in time somehow, but she chose to remain in denial for now, instead continuing to tell herself it was a movie set and this guy was seriously in character and that she was only humoring him by playing along and pretending to be from the future. She wasn't sure how long she'd be able to delude herself into that, but for now, she chose just to focus on doing exactly that—deluding herself.  
"And in the future," Erik said, cutting into her thoughts, "it's common for women to dress so..." He trailed off, struggling to find the right word.

"Oh, everybody dresses like this in the future," Miette replied.  
"Do they indeed? And what exactly are you wearing?"  
"Oh, well, this is a tank top, and these are jeans, and these are my exploring boots that I wear when I go in the catacombs, that's why they're so dirty. And don't tell me you've never seen jewelry before!"

"Not like yours. For example, what in the world is happening with that ring? And what on earth is that bracelet made out of?"  
"That? Oh, it's a mood ring. They supposedly change color to match your mood, but really they just react to your body temperature and change according to that. It's fun to pretend they can read your mood, though! The bracelet, it's made out of colorful woven leather. It's a Native American thing that I got when my family vacationed in America once."

"And I must say I've never seen a woman wear more than one pair of earrings at a time."  
"Girls get multiple ear piercings all the time. Not just in their ears, some people have belly button rings, or eyebrow rings, or lip or nose rings, it's crazy all the places you can get pierced! I'm totally tame compared to some people! Besides, not all of mine involve piercings. My cuff earring I'm wearing on this ear, it just comes off like this, see? And back on again the same way, like this. Anyway, you're one to talk!"

"I beg your pardon?"  
"You heard me! What's with the mask?"

All at once, Erik's face darkened. _"That," _he said coldly as he turned away from her suddenly, "is none. Of your. Business. Now, _mademoiselle, _if you will come with me, I shall take you to someone who will get us out of each other's hair once and for all, and thank God for that." He stood and grabbed his cape, draping it over his shoulders and fastening the clasp, then pulling his gloves back on and making his way towards where the boat was moored. Miette stood and watched him in silence. He turned and looked at her over his shoulder. "Well?" he demanded. "Are you coming, or do I have to knock you out again? I have plenty of chloroform, you know, and I won't hesitate to use it if I must."

Wordlessly, Miette obeyed, stepping into the boat behind Erik, then sitting down in front of him. As he took up the oar and straightened to his full height to begin rowing, he glanced down at her briefly and was suddenly struck with the memory of another girl sitting exactly where Miette was now, what felt like a lifetime ago. In some ways, the scenes were identical. But where Miette had wavy reddish hair and a mischievous glint in her green eyes, the other girl had been a wide-eyed, soft-spoken, curly-haired brunette.

And he knew he would never—_could _never—feel for Miette what he had felt for Christine.

* * *

Élisabeth Giry had been waiting for some time now. She had sent Meg off to deliver Erik Lenoir's things to him, and then gone to a café to wait for her daughter to return so they could go home for the day. She was sitting at a table in the corner by the window with her tea, glancing outside every so often to see if she caught sight of Meg, but so far, there was no sign of her. It was getting late, and to be honest, Élisabeth was beginning to worry; stern as she was known for being, Élisabeth was still a mother, and Meg was, after all, her daughter. Not only that, but out of all the times she had sent Meg to make the delivery by herself before—which she had done numerous times, in fact, for various reasons—never had it taken so long. Meg had always been quite quick and efficient in playing the role of delivery boy, as she was in many other things, and that was precisely why Élisabeth trusted her to run this errand by herself.

So why, she wondered, was it taking so long now?

The café door opened, and finally, Meg came in with another girl in tow. She stopped, looked around, and when she spotted her mother in the corner, she led the other girl over. Élisabeth stood up, and Meg, immediately recognizing the tone in the older woman's body language, stood in front of her with her head down and her hands behind her back, biting her lower lip as if in embarrassment or shame.

"Marguerite Anette Giry," Élisabeth said, "what in heaven's name took you so long? You should have been here an hour ago."  
"I'm sorry, Maman," Meg replied, "but you see, Erik, he was off on one of his tangents, and he wouldn't stop, and then he—"  
"I shall hear no more of your excuses, Meg," Madame Giry interrupted. "Next time, you make the delivery and come straight back, is that clear?"

"Yes, Maman."  
"Good. Now, who is this?"  
"This is Miette. We met her earlier, remember?"  
"Ah, yes, the girl we got the bread for."  
"Miette, this is my mother."

"Nice to meet you, Madame," Miette said, nodding politely in greeting.  
"And you as well, m'amselle," Mme. Giry replied, then gave Meg a questioning look.  
"Miette was with Erik, Maman," the blonde explained. "She says she ran into the Populaire to get out of the rain earlier, and Erik heard her singing, and—Well, long story short, he's already gotten quite fed up with her, so he passed her off to me and said, 'Take her to your mother, have her do what she will with the _insolent petit malherureux, _it doesn't matter to me so long as she's kept away from here,' only I had to take a detour and sneak back in another way so I could get onto the stage to fetch Miette's bag from where she'd left it, so now here we both are."

Madame Giry looked Miette up and down. She looked about the same age as Meg, give or take about a year, and she seemed quite harmless. She wondered what exactly this girl had done to set Erik off the way she had. Then again, there was really no telling how he would react to almost anything, especially in the last two years. He was just so unpredictable, even to Élisabeth, who, other than Nadir Khan, knew him better than anyone, though Nadir didn't really count anymore since he thought Erik to be dead just like everyone else did.

"Your clothes, m'amselle," she said. It was the first thing she could think of to address.  
"I'm...not from around here," Miette replied. "I mean...I was born in Paris, but I've lived...outside France for a long time now."  
"Then we shall have to get you something new to wear, I suppose. We shall go shopping for you first thing in the morning, but in the meantime, you may stay with us. We have a guest room that you are welcome to, and you look about Meg's size, so you may borrow one of her nightgowns to sleep in tonight."

Miette's shoulders sank as she let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Thank you, Madame. That...I...Thank you. I very much appreciate it."  
"Think nothing of it. Now, come, both of you. It is getting late, and we have much to do tomorrow."

* * *

**And so we're getting more of the Girys now, yay! Like I said, Meg's always been one of my favorites, especially as played by Jennifer Ellison. And as for Madame Giry, I've always seen her as being tough and stern and "you-don't-wanna-mess-with-that-woman," but at the same time with a more tender side that she doesn't really let show very much, and I think I got that impression because of the way Miranda Richardson portrayed her.  
**

**Let's see, there were a few things I wanted to talk about to clear some stuff up, what were they?...Okay, let's start with the aria.**

**Originally, I wanted to have him be playing Musetta's Waltz, but La Boheme wasn't around until 1896, so I couldn't do that because it's 13 years after this fic takes place. Anyway, the one I ended up using is a real aria, and the opera it's from is real. It has five acts, is one of the many versions of Romeo & Juliet that exist, and premiered in April of 1867. The song is called "Ah! Je veux vivre!" a.k.a The Waltz of Juliette, and it is her character's solo in the first act, and it's basically her saying to her Nurse that she doesn't want to get married, she wants to be free to live her life. (Obviously this is before she meets Romeo, lol). I got the lyrics for it off of aria-database dot com, and here is the translation to the bit that Miette sang:**

_This intoxication of youth lasts, alas, only for one day! Then comes the hour when one weeps. Far from the morose winter let me, let me slumber and inhale the rose, before plucking its petals. Ah!-Ah!-Ah!_

**Also, the ring that Miette is wearing that, to Erik, didn't look as strange as the others, if you want to know what that looks like, I will be posting a link to a picture of it on my profile for you to go and check out.**

**Um, what else...?**

**Okay, the thing where Miette randomly sits up and yells "Put that pelican back right now or I'll turn you into a carrot!" is actually something that I got the idea for because of the fact that sometimes, in the middle of the night, I'll be awake, and suddenly, from my brother's room, I hear him yell THE most random shit in his sleep. One time he was all like, "NO!" and another time he yelled, "No, [my name], stop, what are you doing?!" Also, one time, a friend and I spent the night at another friend's house, and we woke up before she did, and she was saying random stuff in her sleep, and we started reading stuff out of a book, and she'd respond to us, and then she suddenly got out of bed and we followed her into the living room, and she went towards the cat that was in there with her eyes still closed and this sort of blissed out grin on her face going, "Kitty kitty meow meow...Kitty kitty meow meow...Kitty kitty meow meow..." etc., etc. **

**It was SO funny!**

**So yeah, Miette's little sleep-outburst was sort of inspired by true events to some degree, but the specifics of what she said came purely from my imagination.**

**OH! I remember what else I waned to say now! Meg's age! I imagine her and Christine to be about nineteen, give or take, when everything happened, so if she was nineteen then and this takes place two years later, that means that she's 21 in this, so only two years older than Miette.**

**AAAAAnd...I believe that's it. :)**

**Remember to review so nobody gets Punjab'd!**


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: God, I LOVE Aria of Life's reviews, they make me laugh so hard! She said she half-expected Erik to start disassembling the iPod and Miette be like "lkajlkdfal; don't do that!" and him just be all "explain this witchcraft!" Actually, if I'm being truthful, that gave me an idea for this chapter, LMAO! ALSO, I need to clarify something (thanks again, Aria, for making me realize I need to do this):  
**

**Miette does not know the Phantom story. She lives in what you might call an alternate universe from ours, an alternate timeline of sorts where Leroux never wrote the book, and therefore none of the adaptations exist, so no, she's not going to go into fangirl (or phan, as the case may be) mode over Erik or start yammering about Christine or asking annoying questions about how much of it was true and how much was fiction or ask to see the mirrored torture room or anything like that because she has no knowledge of any of that stuff, all she knows about Erik is what he himself has told her.**

**Also, don't worry, she's good at doing what she's been told not to and going where she doesn't belong, so she'll find a way to get back down there and ruffle his feathers again! Only this time, she'll be properly attired for it, because as Aria and I were discussing, one simply does not go about pissing Erik off unless one is wearing the proper clothing while Élisabeth Giry has anything to say about it!**

**AAAnd one more thing. judybear236 has been sending me some PMs with very helpful and kind constructive criticism and tips and things (again, judy, thank you for doing so), and in one of the ones she sent me concerning the previous chapter, she made the following comment:  
**

**"Hmm… You say Meg is 21? The scene with her and her mother felt more like she was 15. I would never have guessed that she was that old from her actions and language."**

**And she does have a point about that. The reason I wrote Meg like that is for a couple of reasons. First off, she comes across to me as being somewhat childish in a few ways, you know? The other, possibly more important reason, however? Her mother. As we all know, Madame Giry is a very stern woman with a very authoritative air about her, and I honestly have always felt that anyone, especially her daughter, would (to a certain degree, anyway, depending on the individual person) would act in a manner at least somewhat similar to how Meg did last chapter when they're around her, and especially if she's chastising them like she was doing with Meg last chapter. The exception to that, in my mind, is Erik, but only because he's, well, Erik.**

**So I hope that clears that up, and judy, I hope that explains it a bit better for you. :)**

**I have been TRYING to make the chapters longer, but the characters just aren't working with me, you know what I mean? I'm working on it, though, so hopefully there will be longer chapters in the future, especially once I have my laptop back.**

**Okay, I'm done now.**

**DISCLAIMER: If I owned anything besides Miette, I would be rich and would have met not only Ramin Karmiloo by now, but also Hadley Fraser. Seeing as I do not belong to a wealthy family, not have I ever even seen Ramin and/or Hadley live, let alone met either one of them, I believe it's safe to assume that I do not own Phantom of the Opera and/or any of its characters.**

**...That one was _kind _of funny, I guess...**

* * *

"God, is this _really _necessary?!" Miette demanded. She was bent over slightly, gripping the vanity in the guest room at the Girys' house while Meg tightened the corset she was wearing rather against her will. True to her word, Madame Giry had taken Miette shopping for clothes, and unfortunately for Miette, wearing the clothing of that period also meant having to wear the corresponding undergarments, which she was so far none too happy with.

"I can't bloody breathe!" she said for about the tenth time in the past ten minutes.  
_"I _can't believe girls don't wear corsets where you're from!" Meg retorted without missing a beat.  
"As if it wasn't bad enough," Miette said as if Meg hadn't spoken, "that I can't wear my jewelry! Now I have to wear this...this torture device! Ouch! Meg, not so tight!"  
"Oh, quit whining, you're all laced up now," Meg said. Madame Giry handed the dress to her daughter, who then followed Miette behind a changing screen to help her into it.

"So you two obviously know that Erik guy," Miette said. "What's his deal, anyway?"  
"Erik Lenoir is a riddle shrouded in mystery wrapped in an enigma!" Meg declared, and Miette's eyebrows went up.  
"Lenoir?" she repeated. "Is that his last name? Funny, he wouldn't give it to me yesterday for some reason. Thought it was a bit odd, but then, so's the mask."  
"Monsieur Lenoir wears that mask for his own protection, m'amselle," Élisabeth said from where she was perched on the foot of the bed. "And as for your question of what his 'deal' is, let us just say that he has endured many hardships in his life and suffered a great deal."  
"I dunno, all I'm saying is he'd be pretty freaking handsome if he'd just take the thing off," Miette said.

Silence fell over the room. Meg's hands stilled as she did the buttons on the back of Miette's dress.

"What?" Miette asked. "Was it something I said?"  
"Maman," Meg said, "Christine invited me to lunch today, may I go?"  
"Only if you swear that Erik will never know about it."  
_"Maman, _I've kept quiet about these things for two years, it's not about to change! There. All done, Miette."

The two girls stepped out from behind the changing screen and Miette went to stand in front of the mirror to examine herself. She twisted around to try and see from different angles, and only after deciding that the dress wasn't so bad after all did she go and sit down on the bed to put on the shoes that she'd gotten to go with it. Madame Giry waved a hand at her daughter. "Very well," she said, "you may go."

"Where...Where's my iPod?" Miette said suddenly. Meg and her mother both turned. Miette was going through her bag, obviously trying to find something, and she looked up at them with a slightly distressed expression on her face. "It's gone," she said. "My iPod is gone. I...Let's see...I remember showing Erik how it works, and then I put it in my pocket when—" She cut off with a shriek of anger. "That son of a bitch! He must have stolen it from me while I was unconscious! How dare he?! I'll strangle him, I'll absolutely strangle him, I swear, I'll—"

"You will not go looking for him, Mademoiselle, do you understand?" Élisabeth said firmly. "He is dangerous. Do I make myself clear?"  
"...Yes, Madame."  
"Good."

* * *

"What is this? What _is _this, how does any of this work?!" Erik demanded of the empty air. He really didn't know why he'd taken Miette's music device. He'd done it at the last minute on a sudden whim before she'd left with Meg Giry, using his pick-pocketing skills to slip it out of her back pocket and conceal it within his cloak. He had been up most of the night playing around with it to see exactly what it was capable of, listening to some of the music she had on it (what in the world was an "Imagine Dragon," he wondered, and who the hell were these Adam Lambert and David Cook people?), he'd accidentally taken a picture of himself with it at one point without even realizing it, and finally, he'd started taking it apart to try and figure out how it worked.

Thus far, he wasn't having much luck.

"Damn this—this—this whatever the hell this thing is!" he shouted, slamming down the circuit-board and standing up so quickly that the chair got knocked over. He exhaled sharply through his nostrils and ripped the mask off, hating the way the leather was rubbing against him. The skin on that side of his face was just so damn sensitive, and while he had long ago figured out how to position the mask so that it didn't usually bother him, there were times when, for whatever reason, it just rubbed against his face in all the wrong spots in exactly the wrong way and he simply couldn't stand it. Sometimes when that happened, he would take it off only to discover that the skin had been rubbed raw, or there were angry red welts in those spots in addition to his disfigurement.

There had been several songs he'd listened to on the odd little device that, strange as he found them, he had to admit were actually quite good. For example, he'd listened to most of the Les Misérables songs, and those were rather enjoyable. The emotion that this Anne Hathaway woman had sung with during the song called "I Dreamed a Dream," he had found that quite amazing, even finding that he could somewhat relate to the song, as well as the one called "On My Own." There had also been one from something called "Repo! the Genetic Opera" that, unless he was quite mistaken, was an aria. It had been called "Chromaggia," and it was sung in Italian. It had told quite an interesting story.

After carefully replacing his mask, he sat down at his organ on sudden impulse and began to play one of the other songs he had enjoyed from the little device, one called "Everything and Nothing" that had sort of reminded him a little of Christine in a way he couldn't really explain.

"Still as absorbed in music as ever, I see," a voice said. Erik smirked slightly, but he did not turn around or stop playing.  
"All else may crumble and fade," he said, "but music...music endures. It lingers in the heart, in the soul. Even when the song is ended, the melody lingers on."

"I've never heard this song before."  
"I heard it on Mademoiselle Comtois's odd little music-playing device."

Madame Giry frowned, going over to where he had left the disassembled iPod on a table, picking up one of the pieces to examine it more closely. "Is this it?" she asked, and Erik gave a single nod of confirmation in response. "It doesn't seem to be in what you would call working order," she remarked. "You wouldn't have anything to do with that, now, would you, Erik?"

"Élisabeth, if man did not satisfy his curiosity, where would society be?" Erik replied. To anyone else, it would have come across as cryptic and evasive, but not to her. She knew him well enough to take this as a confession of sorts.

"Mademoiselle Comtois will not be pleased with this," she said.  
"I do not particularly care what will and will not please Mademoiselle Comtois."  
"Why did you even steal this from her in the first place?"  
"Why did _La Pucelle d'Orléans_ get burned at the stake?"

"Erik!"  
"Honestly, I don't know why. I did it on a whim. I suppose I was curious about it. It's quite fascinating, you see, and yet I can't, for the life of me, figure out how it works. Oh, by the way, I'm very seriously beginning to consider what Meg said about lining the mask, it was rubbing me again earlier, not long before you came in. Her idea sounds a bit absurd, I'll admit, but it just might work in the long run. Perhaps we should try it."

"You are going entirely off-topic here!" Madame Giry said loudly. She did not raise her voice often, and one of the few people in the world who could frustrate her enough to push her to do so was Erik Lenoir. Not even Meg had ever managed to accomplish such a thing with her mother, even when she was a small child constantly getting into things she had no business getting into and causing trouble. Not even Carlotta Gudicelli, who Madame Giry could hardly stand, had ever succeeded in making Élisabeth raise her voice. She had only really ever done so with her ballerinas, and that wasn't because they frustrated her so much as it was to get them to cease their constant chatter and pay attention. So to be able to make her do so at all, Erik truly was a man of many talents indeed.

"She spoke of coming back down here, Erik," Élisabeth said once she was relatively calmer. Finally, Erik stopped playing and turned to face her. He didn't say a word, but he didn't have to; his eyes alone said it all. "I warned her not to," Élisabeth went on, "that you are dangerous. She said she would not attempt it, but I am not so certain if she can be believed or not."

"The girl is mad, Élisabeth," Erik replied. "Mad, I tell you! She's convinced she comes from the future, can you believe that? 21st century indeed! She claims that Germany will one day invade the country, that the Third Republic will fall and be replaced by something she calls Vichy, then the Fourth Republic."  
"She speaks to Meg of ballets that don't exist. And Meg, she just eats it all up, it's absurd!"

For a moment, Erik remained silent, his eyes distant in the way they often got when he was lost in thought. "Give me two days," he said finally, "then let her think she escaped your watchful eye so that she may come back here."

"Are you sure that is wise?"  
"Have I ever been wrong before?"

It took some convincing, but finally, Madame Giry gave in and agreed, wondering just what Erik had up his sleeve now.

* * *

As Miette soon discovered, Madame Giry had the eyes and ears of a hawk. Many times, she tried to pry more information about Erik out of Meg, and many times, the ballerina's mother would interfere. At this rate, she would never be able to sneak off and rescue her iPod. And meanwhile, she was still trying to puzzle out the matter of how she had ended up in the nineteenth century, what reason, if any, there was for her being there, and most importantly, how she was going to get back. Uncle Théo must have been worried about her by then, surely. Besides, without Miette around, whose bed would Bijou sleep on? Uncle Théo wouldn't let her onto his because he didn't want her shedding all over the sheets and mattress and blankets, but Bijou had separation anxiety because she had been abandoned as a kitten (that was how Miette had wound up adopting her in the first place), and she liked to sleep on a bed with a human in it because it helped reassure her that her people were still there and hadn't left her. So since Uncle Théo didn't like her to sleep on his bed, plus since she was Miette's cat, she always slept with Miette. Now who would she sleep with, though?

"Meg, Miette!" Madame Giry called, breaking Miette from her thoughts. "I have errands to run, I'll be back in a while. I expect _both _of you to still be here when I return."  
"Yes, Maman!" Meg replied at the same time that Miette absentmindedly said, "Yes, ma'am."

The front door opened, then closed, and the two girls were alone.

"Miette," Meg said as she came into the room, "are you hungry? I was about to start fixing lunch."  
"Hm? Oh, yeah. Lunch sounds great, thanks, Meg," Miette replied. Meg smiled and disappeared to head downstairs. Not having anything better to do with herself at the moment, Miette decided to follow her, so she got up and headed into the kitchen, looking around as Meg went about getting the things she needed. "Is salad and fish alright?" Meg asked. "We haven't really got much else right now, we need to go to the market"

"That's fine," Miette said. "Can I do anything to help?"  
"If you could get started on the salad, that'd be great. You can use that bowl I put on the counter over there."

So for a little while, they worked together in a comfortable silence, broken by Miette's occasional question of where something was kept and Meg's response. Then Meg was the one to ask a question.

"So do you cook a lot with your maman?" she asked.  
"I used to when I was little," Miette said.  
"What made you stop?"  
"She and Père died when I was ten."  
"Oh, goodness, I'm so sorry."  
"It's alright, you didn't know."  
"So who do you live with now?"  
"My Uncle Théo."  
"Do you ever cook with him?"  
"God, no! Uncle Théo can't even skin a potato on his own, let alone cook an entire meal! No, I do all the cooking for the both of us."

"You know," Meg said, "my _père _died, too. When I was six. He took ill and just...never recovered."  
"That must have been hard for you, being so young at the time and having to watch him suffer."  
"Well, I don't really remember it much, to be honest. I couldn't even tell you what he was ill with."

"Well...how long have you been a dancer?"  
"Oh, practically my whole life! Maman was a dancer at the Populaire when she was younger, before she met Papa, and after he died, she became the ballet mistress there, so I've pretty much been raised to be a dancer because I lived and trained in the dormitories with the other ballerinas. The Phantom even got me promoted once, it was wonderful, Maman was so proud!"

"The Phantom?"  
"What? Oh, no! Erik, I meant Erik! Erik Lenoir, he had some sway with the managers and he thought I was good, so he got me promoted once!"

Miette paused in what she was doing and turned to face the blonde, one hand on her hip, the other on the countertop beside the bowl she was making the salad in. "But you didn't say Erik," she said, "you said the Phantom, I distinctly heard you. Meg, is there something you're not telling me here?"

Meg chewed on her bottom lip nervously. "Okay," she said finally, "so he _might _have been called the Phantom of the Opera once-upon-a-time..."  
"Why would people have called him that?" Miette asked. Again, Meg stood there chewing on her bottom lip and twiddling her thumbs, not meeting Miette's eyes.

"Meg, I'm not going to be mad at you or anything, I just want to know—"  
"I can't!" Meg cried. "I'm sorry, Miette, I like you a lot, I really do, and I'd tell you, honest, but I swore to Erik and Maman that I'd never talk about it to anyone, not even Christine or Raoul! I've already said too much!"

"Well...Well, then...can't you at least tell me why he wears the mask?"  
"I'm not supposed to talk about that, either, Maman would have my head for it!"

"Meg?"  
"What?"  
"You know how to get into his cave, right?"  
"Cave? Oh, you mean the lair! Yes, of course, but—No, Miette, we can't, Maman said—"  
"I know what she said, but dammit, Meg, I can't just sit around here doing nothing! I need to know things, to explore weird places, to learn stuff, that's what I do! And besides, he's got my iPod and I want it back, all my music is on that thing!"

"We really, _really _shouldn't, Miette."  
"Meg, how much do you admire Joan of Arc?"  
"Very much indeed, she was so brave! Why?"  
"Think of it this way—What would Joan do?"

Meg stood there blinking as Miette's words sank in, then seemed to deflate somewhat. "Oh, fine," she said, "you win. I'll show you how to get down there. But if he's down there and we get caught, it is _entirely_ your fault, got it?"  
"Yay! Thank you, Meg, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"The things I'll do for an adventure..."

* * *

**So there you have it, Meg and Miette are on a mission! XD Okay, now, let's see, what do I need to talk about this chapter...?  
**

**First of all, "La Pucelle d'Orléans" refers to Joan of Arc, and it is French for "The Maid of ****Orléans**," which is a nickname of hers earned thanks to her part in the siege of—you guessed it!—Orléans.

**The song from Repo! the Genetic Opera that Erik took a liking to, Chromaggia, is sung by Sarah Brightman's character in that film, and it really is a pretty cool story that the song tells. It's about "the fatal bird by the name of Chromaggia" who lives "on the lava coasts," which is thought to refer to the Islands of St. Paul, if I remember correctly. So this bird has an arrow, like the kind you shoot with a bow, tied to one of her tail feathers by like a string or something and believes that the arrow is chasing her trying to kill her, so in her desperation to escape from it, she is eternally in flight, and in her panic, she has unintentionally brought harm to others. Towards the end, it also says something about the mouth of the devil, but I can't remember what exactly. Anyway, since Erik obviously, as we see in Kay's book, speaks multiple languages, I'm going to assume that Italian is one of those languages based on the fact that the Giovanni part of that book took place in Rome and that he can therefore understand the song. Me, I had to look up the translation when I was first introduced to it, lol.**

**As for the other song he liked, the one he was playing on the organ, that is a song by The Boom Circuits, and it is on one of the Twilight Breaking Dawn soundtracks, I think BD part...2 if I remember correctly. It's one of my favorite songs.**

**Also, lol, Miette's been bitten by the "Holy-Shit-Ramin-Has-an-Adorable-Face-and-He's-So-Effing-Hot" Bug, in case you couldn't tell from her comment about how Erik would be handsome if he took his mask off. XD**

**And I seriously went and like looked up what sorts of things French people have for lunch to figure out what would be a realistic thing for Meg to be making, lmao.**

**Oh, and if you're wondering what Bijou (Miette's cat) looks like, she's the same breed as Snoopy Babe (a.k.a. Snoopybabe, or Snoopy), which is Exotic Shorthair. If you don't know who Snoopy Babe is, go look him up, then look up pictures of other Exotic Shorthairs, because they have THE most precious little faces, I swear to God, they just kill me, they're so effing adorable! Also, if you have an Instagram and you're not already following Snoopy Babe, you need to go follow him, because that's where he got his internet fame, and he has over 200,000 followers, and if I had an Instagram, I would be one of them. Anyway, that's what Bijou is, and she's one of the Calico ones.**

**And yes, I do think that the mask irritates his face sometimes! I've always gotten the feeling that the skin on that side of his face would be particularly sensitive, so it makes sense to me that the mask would sometimes do things like rub against him the wrong way and leave welts and things like that. I especially feel that it must be sensitive after finding and reading this article about the way the makeup was done on Gerard Butler in the movie, which I thought was fascinating and will link to on my profile for anyone interested. It talks about how the makeup artists kind of modeled it after an actual birth defect called Sturge-Weber Syndrome (SWS).  
**

**The article then goes on to piss me off by calling Erik "evil," which he is not, he's just misunderstood. GOD, people, not EVERYTHING has a bad guy, you know! It pisses me off when people say Javert's the bad guy, or Erik's the bad guy, they're not, okay, they're NOT. Just because someone is up against the protagonist doesn't mean that they're the antagonist, NOT EVERYTHING HAS A BLOODY BAD GUY, AND LES MIS AND PHANTOM ARE TWO OF THE THINGS THAT JUST HAPPEN NOT TO HAVE BAD GUYS, GET IT THROUGH YOUR SKULLS.**

**Sorry, rant over, it just pisses me off, you know? So that link will be on my profile if you wanna check out the article, it's pretty neat up until they start referring to Erik as evil.**

** And I checked to see if they actually make masquerade masks in leather, and not only do they, but I even found one specific one that was actually a replica of the Phantom mask made of leather, acrylic paint, varnish, fabric, glue, and elastic with leather ties. Not only that, but it's handmade, how cool is that? If you go and Google Images search "masquerade masks," though, and more specifically, "masquerade masks for men," you might be surprised how many results come up that are in the same shape as Erik's mask.**

**Anyway, that's all for now, so as usual, hope you enjoyed and remember to review, otherwise there's no telling who will be the next Punjab victim!**


	5. Chapter 4

**AN: Okay, so I have a question that I would like to ask everyone this time 'round, but I'm not going to ask it until the end.  
**

**Ugh. My dad thinks he finally figured out what's wrong with my laptop, so he went to get a new hard-drive for it and hopefully I'll have it back soon. In the meantime, have another disclaimer and chapter.  
**

**DISCLAIMER: Well, I COULD say that I own everything, but I don't think that's a very good idea because Erik is threatening to Punjab me if I do. So...I OWN NOTHING (except Miette) AND DENY EVERYTHING!**

* * *

"What is that thing, anyway?"  
"It's called a flashlight."  
"But it doesn't flash."  
"I didn't come up with the name."  
"Who did, then?"  
"I dunno, the guy who invented it?"  
"And who is that?"  
"I have no idea."

If one had been walking in the tunnels beneath the Opera Populaire, one might have heard this exchange being whispered between two girls as they made their way along the hidden corridors. But nobody was in the tunnels, and so nobody did hear it. Nobody, that is, except the two young ladies having the conversation.

"Are we almost there?" Miette asked.  
"Not much further," Meg replied.  
"But you said that twenty minutes ago and we're _still _walking."  
"My, aren't you impatient. Really, it's only about ten more minutes, fifteen at the most."  
"But we've been walking _forever _and my feet hurt!"  
"Here, how about I distract you from it?"  
"How do you intend to do that, may I ask?"  
"Tell me something about the future."  
"Like what?"  
"Anything at all!"

Miette sighed heavily and thought for a moment. "The world will end in 2012," she said finally.

_"What?" _  
"December 21st to be exact."  
"You can't be serious!"  
"Zombies will come out of the sky riding meteors like surfboards and come after us for our nummy braaaaaaiiiiiiiiinzzzzzzz."  
"You're just making that up!"

"Am not."  
"Are too."  
"Am not."  
"Are too."  
"Am not."  
"Are too!"

"Meg, please, who's the time traveler here? America will be the first to go, of course, and then Germany...Canada will stay mostly intact, but only because Canadian zombies are polite like regular Canadians, so they won't eat anyone's brains because they don't want to be rude. Oh, and I almost forgot one of the most important parts! All the skeletons in the catacombs will reassemble themselves to become a type of zombie known as Boneys, and then, boy oh boy, is Paris doomed! Boneys will eat anything with a heartbeat, see, and so—Oh, yeah, and then comes the alien invasion. Will Smith be all, 'Welcome to Earth, bitch.' He and Tommy Lee Jones will definitely have their work cut out for them when that part happens."

"Okay, enough, tell me something else."  
"Okay, um...let's see...In six years, a man named Charles Zidler will—"

"Sh! Quiet, turn the light off!" Meg said suddenly, and Miette quickly turned her flashlight off. Meg gestured for her to get against the wall, then did so herself and peered around the corner. "Alright," she said, "it doesn't look like he's home. We'll run in, find your thingy, then run back out, got it? On three. One...two...three!"

Both girls darted out of the tunnel and began going around Erik's lair searching for the iPod. Meg's hands were shaking from the fear of Erik coming back and catching them—oh, how mad her mother would be if that happened, for he would surely tell her about it!—in the act, and it also didn't help that she hadn't the faintest idea what this thing even looked like, despite Miette's attempts to describe it to her earlier.

Meanwhile, Miette was busy looking underneath the mess of musical scores and sketches littered all over a table on the opposite side of the room from Meg. Some little part of her mind registered the fact that all the sketches were of one girl, drawn over and over again in perfect detail, which she found slightly odd, but she was too focused on reclaiming her stolen property to really look at any of them very closely or consider what might be driving him to draw this girl so much.

"Can I help you, mademoiselles?"

Both girls nearly jumped out of their skin with surprise, whirling around to find Erik removing his cloak as he stepped out of the boat. For one brief moment, everyone was frozen just staring at each other. Then, Miette lifted her skirts and marched right up to Erik so that the tips of their noses were practically touching. "Where. Is. My. iPod?" she demanded. Erik merely began to laugh as he moved away from her. She put her hands on her hips, eyes narrowing as she tracked his progress across the room.

"Your little music box?" he said, taking his gloves off, and then pointed at something on a table near the organ. "Right there."  
Miette's eyes widened in horrified shock as she rushed over, realizing that what he was pointing at was not an iPod, but the _remains _of an iPod.

"You took it apart?!" she yelled. "Why would you—"  
"To find out how it works, of course. Why else would I have done such a thing?"

His eyes moved to Meg, who tensed up. "Please don't tell Maman we were here," she said, "she'll be absolutely furious!"  
"Fix this!" Miette said. "Fix it right now, I'm not moving from this spot until you do, and that's final! I want my music back!"

Erik's face darkened. "You want your music, you say? Well, how _appropriate. _This is, after all, the seat of sweet music's throne. However, judging by the cacophony I found on that little device of yours, you hardly know what _music_ is, Mademoiselle Comtois! What in heaven's name, I ask you, is 'Owl City?!' What kind of name is Nalick?! And what, for the love of all that is holy, is a _yamaha?!" _

"Okay, first off, Adam Young and Anna Nalick rule, did you even _listen _to 'Fireflies?' And second, Yamaha's not a what, it's a song title, and it happens to be on the soundtrack of one of my favorite movies, thank you very much. Now, _put. It back. Together."_

"Miette..."  
"Not now, Meg, I'm in the zone."

"And what," Erik said, "if I don't oblige you? What shall you do then, hm?"  
"Easy. I'll rip that mask right off your face and throw it into that lake."  
"You think you're the first person to rip my mask off? Foolish girl."  
"The music and drawings will get wet, too, did I mention that?"

Erik's dark eyes widened and he grabbed Miette roughly by the arms, whirling around and throwing her to the ground. "If you so much as _touch _those drawings, I swear, you shall meet a fate even worse than that of Joseph Buquet and Ubaldo Piangi!"

"Miette!" Meg cried. "Keep your hand raised to the level of your—"  
"Silence, Marguerite!" Erik shouted at her. "Or I shall tell your mother exactly who led Mademoiselle Comtois down here in the first place!"

"Meg, get out of here, run!"  
"No, Miette, not without you!"  
"I'll be fine, just go!"

"Listen to the girl, Mademoiselle Giry," Erik said. "Get out of here while you can."  
"What are you going to do with her?"  
"That...is up to what she chooses to do."

Meg hesitated, looking back and forth between the two, then reluctantly turned and fled out the way she and Miette had come in. While Erik's back was turned watching the blonde leave, Miette snatched up a handful of his sketches that were within arm's reach and crawled over to the shore of the lake, plunging the papers underwater and not caring about her dress getting wet in the process.

When he turned and saw what she was doing, Erik became absolutely livid.

* * *

**Hahahaha, cliffie! XD Okay, quick announcement, then time for my question.  
**

**I'm not sure if I'll be updating this again until after my laptop is fixed, so just in case this ends up being the last thing I add to this story for a while, then...please don't come after me with Punjab lassos, because I swear, it's not my fault and my dad is doing everything he can to fix my laptop.**

**Okay, question time:**

**I have a POTO/Les Mis X-over that I'd like to post, but I can't come up with a good title. It's an (eventual) Enjonine, and it is starring 'Ponine, Enjy, Erik, and Meg, and it takes place in 1832 (so during the Les Mis timeline), and it starts in April, then stretches into June and the rebellion and everything, and Erik and Enjy are half-brothers in it. **

**Any ideas for what a good title might be?**


	6. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry it took so long, my life's been crazy! Anyway, guess what? I'M DRESSING UP AS FEM!ERIK FOR HALLOWEEN, YAAAAAAY!**

**Seriously, though, I'm sorry I kept you in suspense so long, I didn't mean for it to drag out as much as it did, and that it totally my fault, I'm very sorry, I'll try not to let it happen again, but will not make any promises, as I am on crew for my school's upcoming play, and yesterday was the first rehearsal that crew was at, so I'm going to have those every day from Monday to Thursday from now until the show ends, and that's going to be a while, so again, can't make any promises, but I'll do my best.**

**In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and see, what'd I tell you, Kat, no way was I going to kill her off! XD**

**I DISCLAIM!**

* * *

For several long moments, they just stared each other down, Erik with his fists balled at his sides and his entire body tense, the visible half of his face red and contorted with rage, his nostrils flared and eyes burning with anger, Miette down on her knees at the shore of the lake, hair falling over her shoulders, hands shoved into the water and gripping the sketches tightly, parts of both her sleeves and skirt getting wet, eyes wide as she stared at him unflinchingly, lips pressed into a thin, hard line, shoulders visibly rising and falling with each breath.

"I have worked," Erik said, his voice threateningly low, "on my sketches of her for two. _Years. _You insolent girl. How _dare _you come in here and destroy my most precious work? How _dare _you?! Do you have any idea what those sketches mean to me, what they even represent?!"

"Who is she?" Miette demanded.  
"That is none of your business," Erik said harshly. In just a few long strides, he was standing over her. He glared at her for a moment, then bent down and snatched the drawings from her grasp before turning and moving back the way he'd come. He cleared a spot on the table where the disassembled iPod sat, laying the papers out and flattening them gently, so as not to tear anything in their fragile, waterlogged state, then examining them all closely. After a few moments, he covered his face with his hands and let out a moan. "I shall never be able to recover them now!" he cried. "They're ruined! See what you've done, you've ruined them! Are you quite pleased with yourself, Miette Comtois?! Are you?!"

Miette had slowly and quietly crept up behind him, and now, as she stood just behind him, she defiantly replied, "I am." And then, as he straightened up and turned to face her, she snatched the mask off his face. One hand flew to cover the now-exposed half of his face, his visible eye burning with fury at her, but Miette wasn't done yet. In a moment of rash decision, she made another bold move by grabbing his wrist with both hands and pulling as hard as she could. He resisted, of course, but Miette was determined and stubborn, and in the end, she won out in the struggle and successfully pulled the hand away from his face, then quickly grabbed hold of his other wrist so he couldn't replace it with that hand.

She gazed at him steadily and unflinchingly. He stared back, his own gaze stone cold.

"That's right," he said, "look upon me. Look upon the Devil's Child and know the meaning of true ugliness and fear!" He yanked his wrists from her grasp, then grabbed her own wrists so that their positions were, in a way, reversed. He pulled her closer to himself. "Are you getting a good, long look, mademoiselle? I hope so, because this face shall be the last you ever see! The rules clearly state that once you see me without my mask, you are to be my prisoner for all time! So get used to the idea of an eternity of this before your eyes, Miette Comtois!"

"It doesn't scare me," she said, her tone as defiant as ever. "It's just a birth defect, that's all. Nothing to be afraid of. There are worse deformities you could have ended up with, believe me. You're lucky compared to some."  
"Foolish girl!" he shouted. "Do you not understand the danger you are in? I am a murderer, what about that is so difficult for you to grasp?! Perhaps if you knew what I had done in Persia! Of what I built there and then duplicated here, in this very opera house!"

"Then tell me! If you're so keen for me to know, just tell me!"  
"A torture chamber, m'amselle! A room with mirrored walls that becomes unbearably hot, so that without food or drink, he who finds himself trapped within has only one way to escape, and that is by hanging himself with the lasso in the corner from the iron tree that stands there! Do you not understand that you are being held captive by a monster?!"

"A murderer you may be, messieur, but you are not a monster! You are no 'devil's child,' you are merely a tortured soul! I know the look of a heartbroken man, messieur, I live with one! Whatever it is that may have happened to make you lose her, you must move on, for if you don't, you shall only be torturing yourself further! I should know, I have also lost loved ones!"

"You. Know. _Nothing! _You know nothing of me, of her, of anything! You were not here two years ago when the chandelier fell and she was taken from me! You were not here on the night she sang that aria so beautifully, or when they performed my opera! _You were not here! _Nor were you there when Luciana fell from that roof, or when I broke that mirror as a child! You are nothing, you hear me?! Nothing! Nothing but a simple madwoman with insane theories about the future and a strange music device! That is all you are, you understand?!"

"You want to see my scar?!" Miette cried tearfully, and Erik stopped short suddenly.

_"What?"_ he said in disbelief.  
"My scar!" she repeated. "I've got a big ugly scar on my leg that I'm ashamed of, it's why I never wear anything that leaves my legs exposed, no matter what I'm doing or how hot it is! I've had it since I was ten, I got it in a car wreck that I was the only survivor of, it killed both my parents and my aunt, I just got lucky! It's this big, huge, ugly red thing on my leg, do you want to see it or not?!" Without waiting for a response, she pulled free and lifted her skirt up, rolling down one of her stockings, then thrusting the leg out at him, using the table for support to keep her balance. "Look!" she cried. "Look at it!"

Sure enough, just as she'd said, there was a portion of her leg where the skin was red and mottled, and there was an angry pink line running through part of it where the skin was sort of puckered inwards and white around the edges. "My leg was crushed under part of the wreckage," she said, "and the line is from where some glass cut into me. Like I said before, I was the only survivor. You're not the only one who's suffered, Erik Lenoir. Just remember that. You're not the only one who's suffered. Plenty of people suffer every day, and maybe you would know that if you actually went out into the world!"

"I have had enough of the world to last me many lifetimes, mademoiselle. I need no more of it, nor it of me."  
"You are nothing but a coward, do you know that?! You hide behind this stupid mask and won't go out in the world simply because you're different! Well, news flash, Monsieur Lenoir! So is everybody else! You think there's such a thing as normal?! You're wrong! There is no such thing! It's nothing but a myth! And even if it was real, it would be completely overrated! And you're out of your bloody mind for thinking otherwise!"

Erik's nostrils flared, and he raised a hand as if preparing to strike her, but Miette turned and darted off in the other direction. He followed, and they ended up on opposite sides of a table, both of them repeatedly feinting back and forth, trying to trick the other into going somewhere else, but they were both too clever for it to work on either end. The result was that they were doing an odd dance of sorts when they were interrupted suddenly by a cream-and-dark-brown blur jumping up onto the table between them, startling Miette and making her gasp in surprise as she stumbled back a step or two before catching herself against the wall, then turning to see what had happened. She blinked and tilted her head slightly at what she saw.

Erik was smiling sadly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he gently stroked the Siamese cat that stood on the table affectionately rubbing up against him. Miette approached slowly, and Erik's dark eyes darted upwards to look at her as a frown replaced the smile. "What?" he snapped. "Are you going to do to Ayesha what you've done to my drawings?"

"Ayesha," Miette repeated. "That's such a pretty name. And...she?" When Erik gave a nod, she continued. "She's such a beautiful cat. Where—"  
"I found her on the streets one night. It was in 1871, durring the Commune, when meat was scarce and people routinely butchered cats and horses. She was only a kitten at the time, and I knew that if I left her there, she would surely be scooped up by someone else and eaten. I couldn't let that happen, so I picked her up and brought her back here. What? What are you smiling like that for?"

"You see?" Miette said. "You _do _have a heart. You are more than just a madman or a killer. You are _human. _I would have done exactly the same thing. I have a cat, you know. Her name is Bijou. I've had her ever since just before my parents died. She sleeps on my bed at night. She was abandoned as a kitten and I rescued her, just like you rescued Ayesha. You are _human, _Erik Lenoir. There is compassion in you yet."

She sighed as her smile faded. "I'm sorry for ruining your pictures," she said quietly. "I didn't know that they—"  
"No," Erik said. "I'm sorry. I...I should have realized you were serious in your threats. As much as music means to me, I shouldn't have tested you. That was hypocritical of me. I would have retaliated, as well. Your music is precious to you, just as mine is to me, and I see that now. I will...attempt...to fix your...ah...device. I cannot make any promises, as I don't fully understand how it works and am not sure I'll be entirely successful, but...I can at least promise to try."

"I...I know some art tricks. I might be able to save the drawings. I just have one question for you."  
"And what might that be?"

"Am I really your prisoner?"  
"Yes. At least for the time being."  
"How long do you mean by that?"  
"That depends on a few things."  
"Such as what exactly?"  
"Namely your behavior from this point on."

There was a pause, during which Miette's face was thoughtful.

"I'm considered an oddity, too," she said finally, her voice quiet. Erik chuckled humorlessly as he scratched between Ayesha's ears. "I find that difficult to believe," he said quietly. Miette lifted her head, her chin set. "And why is that?" she asked. He smiled sadly and shook his head.

"Look at you," he said. "You're what, eighteen?"  
"Nineteen," she corrected.

"You're the same age that she was. You're just like her. You're young and beautiful with a lovely singing voice and your whole life ahead of you. You have potential, talent, your fa—" He faltered and paused for a moment. "...Your pretty red hair," he said finally. "The world is at your feet, Miette. Embrace it while you still can. Behave yourself so I can let you go, and once that happens, go home, find a boy, get married, have children, die old, do all the things a girl like you should do with herself. Like she did."

"Who _is _she?"  
"I cannot tell you."  
"I'll make a deal with you. I will tell you anything you want to know at any time you want to know it, and in return, all I ask is that you tell me about her."

"That is a deal I'm afraid I—"  
"Can't make? Or won't?"

There was a long pause. Miette went over to where the mask had landed when she'd tossed it aside and picked it up, dusting it off before going to where Erik stood and holding it out to him. He reached out and took it from her, an exhausted, worn-out look in his dark eyes as he replaced it.

"It's late," he said after another moment or so, "you should rest. You may take the swan bed."  
"What about you, though? Where will you sleep?"  
"I'll be fine. I don't sleep much, you see."  
"...Oh. Alright then. If...If you say so."

Miette turned and began heading towards where the swan bed was situated. Erik turned his back on her and seated himself at the table, where he began examining the parts of the iPod to try and put things back together again. As Miette stripped out of her dress and down to her undergarments, she hummed softly to herself, and as she settled down beneath the covers, watching Erik's silhouette at the table, the humming turned into quiet singing.

_"Et je trouve ça un peu drôle et je trouve ça un peu triste que ces rêves dans lesquels je meurs sont les meilleurs que j'ai jamais eu; et je trouve qu'il est difficile de vous dire et je trouve qu'il est difficile de prendre que lorsque les gens tournent en rond c'est un très, très...monde fou, monde fou..."_

* * *

**The song Miette sang at the end there is the chorus of "Mad World," the only version of which I'm familiar with is Adam Lambert's. For those who don't know, it goes:**

"And I find it kinda funny and I find it kinda sad that these dreams in which I'm dyin' are the best I ever had; and I find it hard to tell you and I find it hard to take that when people run in circles it's a very, very...mad world, mad world"

**It's kind of a sad song, to tell the truth. Like kinda-sorta-not-all-the-way-but-technically. It's hard to explain, you just have to listen to it and/or look up the lyrics to understand what I mean by that. Anyway, yeah. Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long, but in the meantime, Mabinogi, here I come!**


End file.
